Where does fondant come from?

Who knew there was so much interest in this humble ingredient? But hey, I’ll go with the flow (buh-dum bum). Poured fondant, reader Kellie, was invented in France, probably in the mid-1800?s when granulated sugar was plentiful and the confectionery arts were developing in all sorts of new and interesting directions. The word “fondant” comes from the French verb for “melt”, presumably because of the way fondant melts in the mouth. Indeed, the fine crystal structure of fondant gives it melting qualities that are unique in the candy world.

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Why fondant?

Reader Bailey wants to know why she should go to the trouble of making actual poured fondant instead of just using a simple powdered-sugar-and-water mixture. It’s a terrific question and the answer is all related to crystals. Sucrose crystals to be precise.

Icings are forms of crystalline candy that flow…at least for a while…until they set. Their consistency, the way they feel in the mouth, is a factor of the size of the crystals they contain. The smaller the crystals the smoother the icing feels on your tongue, and the more consistently it behaves as a topping.

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Esterházy Torte Recipe

Tradition holds that Esterházy torte can be no more or less than six layers high. Who knows why, but far be it from me to buck tradition. Some versions of this pastry call for alternating layers of hazelnut and almond meringue. That’s a neat idea, but not necessary. If you feel like making two batches of meringue, go for it! You’ll need:

11 egg whites, room temperature
10.5 ounces granulated sugar
11.5 ounces finely ground peeled hazelnuts or almonds
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 recipe Swiss meringue buttercream
about three ounces apricot glaze
about six ounces poured fondant
about two ounces melted dark chocolate, couverture or ganache
about eight ounces slivered almonds

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Dacquoise or no?

Several readers have written in to ask if Esterházy torte qualifies as a dacquoise. The answer is: yes. The definition of a dacquoise is a pastry that’s composed of alternating layers of meringue and cream filling (usually buttercream but also pastry cream or whipped cream). Marjolaine is a member of that family.

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Where does Esterházy torte come from?

Why, Vienna. That city has been the cultural capital of Europe for more years than perhaps any other, however it attained probably its greatest prominence as the seat of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (which lasted from 1867 until the end of the First World War in 1918). In those days Vienna was not only the home to nobility it was an economic powerhouse as well. Of course lots of economic activity means a thriving middle class, and a thriving middle class means lots of demand for luxury goods with which the not-so-well-born can achieve a living standard comparable to the well-born twits who think they’re too good to hang out with them.

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Skinning the Sodium Bicarbonate Cat

Reader Ted writes in with a fascinating question:

So, I’ve been tinkering with recipes for bran muffins, and hoping to come up with something other than hockey pucks (the grocery store can do them; why can’t I?) and I started thinking about baking soda vs baking powder. I was looking on the net about the two, and came across [an] article, and something in it puzzled me. [Joy the Baker] writes:

When sodium bicarbonate [baking soda] meets with heat, carbon dioxide gas is formed. It’s this gas that gives rise to our favorite cakes, cookies and biscuits. There is one drawback to the production of this gas. When heated, sodium bicarbonate also produces sodium carbonate, which doesn’t taste very good. If you’ve ever eaten any metallic tasting cakes or biscuits, you know what I’m talking about. Thankfully, the metallic taste of sodium carbonate can be neutralized by acid. Lemon, yogurt, buttermilk, and unsweetened natural cocoa powder can neutralize the taste of sodium carbonate and keep our baked goods risen and lifted.

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The Case of the Man-Eating Pineapple

Reader Brandi writes in to ask why her recent attempt to make a fresh pineapple JELL-O ring ended in disaster. Brandi, the answer is that fresh pineapple contains an enzyme by the name of bromelain which is a protein-digesting enzyme, and gelatin is a protein. Canned pineapple will work in a JELL-O mold because the heat of the canning process denatures (chemistry talk for “messes up”) the bromelain enzymes.

I know what you’re thinking. Or at any rate I know what you might be thinking. Oh hell who am I kidding, you’re almost certainly not thinking it but I needed a transition. What on earth is a protein-digesting enzyme doing in a pineapple? It’s a good question, because really, what use does a fruit have for such a thing?

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Back to Prince Esterházy

It’s not the cake and cream portion of this classic pastry that I fear, it’s that zebra-striped fondant top. Oh sure I’ve done it before on the tops of Napoleons and such, but a round one? That gives me the jits I don’t mind telling you. Otherwise the only thing that has me puzzled is the structure of the thing. An Esterházy torte is not unlike a Dobos torte in that it’s made up of many, many individual layers of “cake” and buttercream. That “cake” is most often a soft almond or hazelnut sponge, at least based on the recipes I’ve seen so far. However I’m greatly intrigued by references to “classic” versions that are supposedly made of crispy nut flour-and-meringue layers. Which way to go…which way to go…I think I know already but am interested in what you might have to say on the subject.

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Dead Man’s Party

Mrs. Pastry is back from Oaxaca with bags of chocolate, fresh nuts and a smartphone full of photographs. The pictures make me regret not bringing the whole family down there last week. Day of the Dead is something special, both from an artistic and philosophical point of view. The above picture is a sand painting made on top of a grave during a late-night cemetery party Mrs. Pastry went to. As in many places in Mexico during Day of the Dead, people were very enthusiastic about displaying their artwork and introducing visitors to dead family members.

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The Quick-Rise Trade-Off

Reader Selena wants to know if it’s possible to add more flavor to pan de muerto, i.e. make it more like a long-fermented artisan bread. Yes, Selena that’s very doable, though you’ll be changing the texture of the bread in the process. Generally long fermentation creates a denser texture with smaller holes in the crumb. The reason for that is because “wild” yeasts tend not to produce carbon dioxide with the same verve as the packaged stuff. They get the job done, mind you, but the gas bubbles they make are smaller and they take more time to develop. That’s a good thing from a flavor standpoint since enzymes and flavor-creating bacteria need time to do their thing creating sugars, alcohols and whatnot.

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